Page 43 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
“That’s what happens to sightless, loose-tongued fools who stumble into our world,” he tells me, devoid of emotion.
Bile churns in my stomach. “Is that a common occurrence?”
“Fairly.” He shrugs. “Not everyone is lucky enough to happen across a protector, like you have.”
I should repay that with an insult, but I can only watch the man, who by all rights should be dead from old age and misuse, as he mindlessly stacks the cups on a shelf.
“Why hasn’t anyone helped him?”
Neirin gives me a dubious look. “Areyougoing to do it?”
I roll my eyes, then realize I’ve answered my own question, and his. No, I’m not going to help this man. I’ve got far more important things to do, just like everyone else who’s ever wandered past and paid him no mind.
“Just be glad that you’re smart enough to keep your name a secret,” Neirin says pointedly. “If anyone truly cared about rescuing human strays, we’d lose half the taverns in the realm. He’ll drop eventually, poor fool. There’s nothing you can do for him. He gave his name to the landlord for a pint, and now the landlord’ll never give Richard up.”
Neirin has spoken my cruelest thought aloud: that I am relieved it is Richard, not I, who was stupid enough to get stuck here.
“They’re working him to the bone,” I say, though the observation serves no purpose beyond making me feel a little guilty.
“And he has no idea,” Neirin assures me. “He was a young man when he got here. Now he’s little more than a corpse. You could free him, but you’ll never give him those years back.”
“Youassumehe has no idea.”
“What?”
I shrug. “You don’t know that he’s oblivious. I’ll wager no one’s asked him, and if they ever did, he can’t give an honest answer. He could’ve been in there all these years, screaming to get out.”
An unreadable expression ghosts over Neirin’s face. I think it might be discomfort or disgust, but I’m not sure if he’s ever truly experienced either. He certainly doesn’t like the idea I’ve handed him, though.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it could be true.”
Neirin’s lip curls down unpleasantly. “I’d prefer it if you’d lie, on this occasion.”
“I will not,” I say. “The way they’re treating him is vile.”
And still I’m not going to do anything about it. Neirin and I bothknow that. Ceridwen is my priority, and I’ll forget Richard when I leave this pub, just like everyone else who’s ever passed through.
“This is the way of things.” Neirin’s voice is almost gentle for a moment, until he chuckles to himself and adds, “Besides, I received a very generous room rate. I’m glad I picked a pragmatic human. I doubt the landlord would ever indulge me like that again if I let my thrall steal his.”
I make a disgusted sound. “I’m no thrall.”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “For now. Come.”
I wince at the reminder. Neirin nods to the stairs and steps into the corridor, expecting me to follow. To prove him wrong, I linger in the tavern a moment longer, but when I look for Richard, he’s disappeared.
“Don’t tell me,” I say flippantly when I finally follow, “there was only one room available?”
“How ever did you guess?” He winks over his shoulder.
“Because it’s exactly the kind of horrid trick you would find funny,” I tell him. “Also, because you lack basic morals—”
“You don’t havethatmany morals, Habren.” Neirin waves me off.
Exhaustion is a heavy cloud threatening to break over me at any moment, so I gather my skirts and rush after him. Morality is for those who can afford it. No one in Llanadwen will ever know of this, and I doubt most would believe me if I told them.
The old stairs creak as I trek up to a gloomy hallway lined with ten doors. The only light comes from a green lamp on a small table and the window at the end of the hall. Neirin doesn’t have a key, but the moment his hand touches a door it swings open. He goes inside first, kicks off his boots and tosses his coat aside.
